


The Last Game

by Annie_Is_A_Contranym



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hockey, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-10
Updated: 2013-10-10
Packaged: 2017-12-29 00:57:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/998961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annie_Is_A_Contranym/pseuds/Annie_Is_A_Contranym
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the last game of Castiel's hockey career so of course Dean would have to ruin it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Last Game

It was to be his last game. Castiel stared down the ice at the opposing goalie, his new competition. The guy was huge. He looked like he was six and a half feet tall and he took up pretty much the entire net. The crossbar of the net, which stood about four feet off the ground, marked him at the lower back. He looked back at the cross-bar behind him.  It was little below his shoulder blades.

“Shit,” he murmured before going on to pray that the giant moose was clumsy.

The first period saw that prayer unanswered. The goalie, Winchester, stopped shot after shot, with an agility that was downright insulting with how graceful it was. Castiel wondered why the hell he chose hockey instead of basketball. Oh yeah, the defenseman, the other Winchester was the reason. This kid got into hockey because of his older brother. He knew Dean well through the game. They’d played against each other before. And there was that one night in Vancouver during the lockout when they’d met in a bar and after a few drinks they’d been tangling in Egyptian cotton 300 thread count instead of on ice.

He shivered at the memory. He always did. He sometimes wondered what might have become of them if he hadn’t received the text from Michael, his manager and brother, which prompted him to sneak out before Dean awoke. In the end, it didn’t matter, he guessed. Winchester seemed to have developed a strong distaste for him immediately after that encounter.  They faced each other on the ice a number of times since then and Dean always seemed so angry. He wished things were different. He’d felt a real connection with the younger man but sometimes there were things beyond a person’s control.

Grimacing, Castiel focused on what he could control; how many pucks made it past him into the net. The moose at the other end of the ice made save after save, but so did Castiel. The first period was over before Castiel could catch his breath and the score was nil-nil. As he lifted his water bottle to his lips, sucking down the precious liquid, he eyed the other goalie hard, looking for signs of fatigue.

The moose was talking to his brother and Cas took the chance to just appreciate just how attractive the elder Winchester was. He was impressive, even with so much was hidden under the bulky uniform. Cas however, would never be able to look at him again without an awareness of the naked glory of Dean. Suddenly they both looked his way and he sputtered, water going down the wrong pipe, inciting a choking sound and the visual of Castiel looking like an idiot. He quickly spun around, turning his back on them lest they see him for the fool he was for Dean.

Things changed in the second period. Dean was even more aggressive than usual in his defense of his brother and the net. This meant that his team’s forwards had more opportunity to keep the puck on Cas’s side of the ice. Like a mechanical duck at carnival shooting range, Cas was assailed with shot after shot, his defensemen nowhere near the skill and drive of Dean. Cas did his best to keep up and managed seventeen saves before a deflection he had no chance of stopping got past him and marked the scoreboard in favour of his opponents. The giant at the other end still hadn’t let one by. By the end of the second, Castiel was wheezing, aching and tested to his limits but it was still one goal to nothing flashing, mocking him. 

The second intermission, felt too short. Cas wasn’t ready to get back on the ice and he desperately tried to focus. The assistant coach had reamed out the boys on his team and they all went into the third period desperate. That intensified when they realised the opposing team had switched Dean Winchester into a forward position replacing him as defenseman with another player.

Dean never played forward anymore. He hadn’t in years. Why this game? Castiel had already sent out his retirement notice to the press agencies. He was just hoping for a decent exit. What was Dean doing? Was this to mess with his head? Castiel was determined not to let it. He knocked and blocked out everything they launched at him. He rejoiced, smiling behind his mask, when Inias, a young forward on his team, backhanded one past the Sasquatch goalie at the other end.

Tie game.

_Eight minutes to go._

Castiel tracked the puck as if it were a nuclear warhead in transit. He was pleased with his performance in this game so far. If he could just hold out for eight more minutes he’d not be ending his career on a loss. His stomach was a mess of butterflies. He forced himself to focus.

His own forwards kept the battle on the other end of the rink, slamming multiple shots in quick succession at the moose. Winchester made every save. How could he not? His giant body covered most of the net and his glove had a freaking supernatural reach with those over long arms. Cas didn’t pray for it but he wished hard for just one slip up so his team could score. The other team iced the puck several time, sending it the length of the rink, only to garner a whistle from the ref and a face-off in their own end. There was no change in the score yet however.

_Four minutes to go._

A fresh set of forwards jumped on the ice and rushed up toward Cas. Dean was one of them. When one of Cas’s defensemen took a dive to the ice, Dean played his opening and skated hard into the zone. He had the puck. Dean teed it up and fired a slap shot but Cas caught it in his glove and held it tight. Their eyes met and Castiel’s gut lurched.

 Cas’s teammates were able to work the puck back into the opposing zone after that.  He took the opportunity to eye the clock every now and then, marking the minutes as they ticked down from four to three and then from three to two.

_Two fucking minutes left in the game._

The other goalie was being bombarded with shots again. Again he stopped them all. Castiel was just about ready to pray, if it meant the team would get one past Winchester.

Suddenly a pass between two of his players was intercepted by a speedy forward from the other team. It was Dean. He came hurtling up the ice. He was on a breakaway, Cas realized. He slid out and forward to meet Dean and then began skating backward, watching for him to shoot or deke.

It was a small movement, hardly noticeable. Dean’s shoulder dropped to shoot and Cas committed to it, only to realize he was faking at the last second. Cas tried to recover. Dean pulled the puck to his backhand and easily slipped it past Cas as he’tried to stack his pads.

Fuck! Cas didn’t need the whistle and alarm to tell him the puck was in the net. It sounded all the same, a death knell, signalling the end of the game.

Cheers erupted from the stands and the other team as Dean arced around back of the net, skating to a stop in front of where Castiel still lay on the ice. He pulled off his helmet and for a moment, Cas thought Dean was going to taunt him. Dean pulled off his glove and extended his hand. Cas took it and allowed himself to be helped up. For a second they stood there looking into each other’s eyes in silent communication. It was like this, that night in the bar.

“You left me,” Dean said suddenly. “No note nothing.”

Cas nodded slowly. “It was wrong of me. I wish I hadn’t. I’ve wondered.”

Dean eyed him suspiciously before responding.

“Okay.” He hesitated before adding, “My room is 914.”

Cas nodded again but said nothing. Satisfied, Dean skated away to join his team in celebrating their win.

Conflicted, Cas glided to the edge of the rink. He’d lost the last game of his career. Why did he feel like he’d won?

 

_*A deke is a Canadian term for an ice hockey technique which a player uses to get past an opponent or "fake out" an opposing player_


End file.
